


Plug It Up

by orphan_account



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 09:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Trial after trial gets boring after a while. Freddy finds a way to spice things up. [Warning: brief mention of CSA]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter ends pretty abruptly because I've been stuck for a long time. It may never be finished, to be honest, so throwing up what I have. Enjoy. Please leave a comment if you are interested in seeing a second part.

Except for one particular _situation_, Quentin had a relatively normal childhood. A quiet, shy child, he didn’t have many friends. The other kids saw him as “spacey” or “weird” for being so consistently stuck in his own head, sometimes not even able to see what was in front of him, even if it was a dodge ball flying at his face. But what kid didn’t have trouble fitting in, to some degree or another? It was all very normal, really.

Krueger was the anomaly. The abnormal part of his childhood. The horrific part of his adulthood. Hook through his shoulder, dream demon leering through the darkness at him, Quentin’s thoughts slipped back to his preschool days. Slipped back to a different basement, but the same demon. Relatively.

“It’ll feel good,” Krueger had promised, petting his fingers along Quentin’s naked back. The boy shivered, pressed his face into the pillows, and nodded. Said okay. Because he _always_ said okay. Mr. Krueger didn’t think he was spacey or weird. He thought Quentin was _special..._

“No,” Quentin groaned, gripping the hook in an attempt to pull himself off. Krueger was right in front of him, so he’d just go back on the hook if he did manage to get free, but maybe he could give Krueger a good kick to the jaw in the process.

Krueger just laughed, stroked his claws down Quentin’s thigh. “It’s cute how you think you got a choice.”

Working fast, Krueger unbuckled Quentin’s belt. When Quentin was little, he could just slip his pants down over his slim hips, but that was impossible with the ridiculously tight pants the boy now favored. Krueger had to unbutton the jeans, unzip them, and yank hard to get them out of the way.

“What the fuck are you doing!?”

Time was of the essence, so Krueger did not bother answering. Probably wouldn’t have bothered anyway. Quentin would see soon enough. Maybe even remember, if he was lucky. Krueger _loved_ it when Quentin remembered, loved seeing the realizations blow out his pupils and pale his skin. The flush would come next, the sputtering indignation. Fun stuff to watch. But that would come later, and that was fine too. Krueger liked the anticipation. Didn’t mind waiting.

Moving behind Quentin, Krueger kneeled and placed his hands on the boy’s ass. Spreading his cheeks wide, chuckling at Quentin’s outraged howl, Krueger snaked his tongue out. Humans were filthy creatures, inside and out, but that was one upside to this prison. No mess as he probed his tongue against Quentin’s entrance, swiping over it wetly a few times before pushing inside. Ready or not. Honestly, Quentin should be _grateful_ that Krueger was even doing this much. He didn’t _have_ to make it easier on the boy, but he was, because he was just that nice of a guy.

It had taken him a long time to get the hang of the sky spider’s world, but now he was getting there. Manifesting objects was child’s play now, as it always should have been, as it _had been_ before this little _brat_ had gotten them dragged into this hellhole. Not that Krueger was bitter. Oh, no. He just believed in giving credit where credit was due. And that was why he had a special reward for Quentin, now that he’d reclaimed some of his power.

Reaching into his pocket, Krueger extracted a large, black butt plug. At the end gleamed a dark green gem, clearly fake in its intricate cuts and exaggerated sparkle. The kid was bigger now, more _experienced_, so Krueger had adjusted accordingly. Just because he was a nice guy didn’t mean he had to make it _too_ easy. Where was the fun in that?

The first time, he’d watched Quentin squirm and suffer all afternoon. Whining during story-time as Krueger bounced him lightly on his knee. Refusing to go to the bathroom, to play at recess. Mrs. Winters had almost sent the kid home sick he was so lethargic and mopey. Thank god she hadn’t, and Quentin had gotten to come down to his room when the day was over. He’d whimpered and cried, _begged _Krueger to take it **_out_**... God, what a _fun _day. He remembered, and he made sure Quentin did too.

Saliva slid down Quentin’s thighs as Krueger pulled his tongue back, though it was quickly replaced by the plug. Quentin gasped, wriggled on the hook, tried his best to move _away_ from the hands pressing the toy into his body but, ultimately, there was nothing he could do. With a rough, uncaring push, it slid inside. Krueger’s grin sparkled in the gem’s reflection as he yanked Quentin’s pants back up, patting his ass for good measure. Rounding to his front, Krueger fastened Quentin’s pants and belt, then gave his groin a pat for artistic symmetry.

There was no time for further taunting. Footsteps fell heavily down the stairs. One of the others running to pull Quentin off the hook which, in this particular instance, was just fine. According to plan. Holding a single claw up his lips, Krueger retreated into a dark corner of the basement and stayed still.

“Damn,” David groaned, grabbing Quentin under the armpits and hauling him off the hook. The boy stumbled, fell into David, and grunted. “Why’s it always you, kid?”

Quentin’s eye flicked to the glimmer of light reflecting off Krueger’s poised claw in the corner, swearing he could see the demon’s cruel grin bright against the darkness, and shook his head. “Let’s get outta here.”

David went first and Quentin ran awkwardly after him, the plug heavy and fat inside of him. Uncomfortable. Every pump of his legs chaffed the bulbous gem against his ass and lodged the offending object further in. At least, it _felt_ that way. Out of the basement they ran, into the lush grass and twilight above. Rain pattered through the forest. In another situation, Quentin might have noticed the beauty of the tall trees. The craftsmanship of the log cabin. Not now, though.

“Here,” David directed, yanking Quentin into a crevice between a few freestanding walls. Perfectly hidden from outside view. Perfect dead end if Krueger happened upon them too. Quentin tried not to think about that, which was easier than he thought it was going to be. After all, there was a lot to distract him. David wrapping his shoulder with a mastery and skill that no longer surprised him, the crank of generators in the distance against the birdsong and soft summer rain, the dull ache from a shoulder wound opened a thousand times, and the sharp, new ache between his legs. It jolted through his body whenever he moved, rubbing dryly against his inside until Quentin grimaced.

“Ah, c’mon,” David teased, mistaking the cause of Quentin’s wince for the shoulder repair job. “Don’ be such a pussy.”

“Fuck off,” Quentin grumbled back, not possessing the patience to converse with David right then. Quentin stood, focusing hard on keeping his face neutral as he peered around the wall. Nothing. None of the other people, and no Krueger either.

“Okay,” he said, pointing vaguely left, “you go to the south generator and-”

“That’s north.”

“Just _go_, David!”

Quentin didn’t think he would at first, that he’d be stuck with an angry British guard dog the entire trial. Might not have been a terrible thing, if things were different. But right now he needed to be alone so he could get that fucking _thing_ out of him, which meant David had to go. Maybe he could tell how serious Quentin was by his scowling face. Maybe he didn’t feel like arguing–an unlikely scenario. Whatever the reason, David looked Quentin up and down, nodded curtly, and took off towards the southern… northern-most generator.

Letting a few moments pass for David to get good and away, Quentin undid his belt. Blood rushed to his face as his fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans; he had no idea where the others were. Just because he hadn’t seen them didn’t mean they weren’t lurking around a corner somewhere. Hiding in a locker, watching him through the ventilation slits… oh _god_, best not to think about that.

Quentin barely got his fly down before the lullaby touched the corners of his mind like a hallucination.

“Shit,” he cursed quietly, yanking the zipper up and buttoning his pants. Quentin dropped into a crouch, hissed out a pained breath, then stood back up. Nope. Not a good plan. It was impossible to tell where Krueger was coming from or how far away he was. Sometimes it seemed like what he could and couldn’t do in these fucked up games changed day to day and Quentin had trouble keeping track of it. Was he asleep? Was he awake? Did it matter anymore?

He needed to move. Anything was better than waiting around to get a fist through the back. Or worse. Peeking around the edge of the wall, Quentin scanned the sparse woods for any shuffle of grass, any disturbance of demonic birds, any sign of his tormentor. Seeing nothing, he took a breath, said a silent, forced prayer, and broke into a sprint.


	2. Chapter 2

Wet grass whipped at Quentin’s legs as he ran away from–at least he _hoped_ it was away–from the lullaby. The singsong taunt of unseen children rang in his ears, making his heart hammer in his chest. Krueger wasn’t interested in anyone else, it seemed. It was going to be one of _those_ types of trials, where he was stalked and mocked the entire time. At least it would give the others a chance to quickly finish the generators and open the gates. And then? Krueger would either kill him or let him go with a knowing smirk and a flutter of knives.

If Krueger followed him_ the entire time_, if he never got a moment’s peace to ease the plug out of his aching body, what then? Would it disappear as he hobbled towards the campfire? Would it remain, forcing him to sneak away from the fire under watchful eyes to try to steal enough privacy to get rid of it? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to find out.

The lullaby grew louder, a screaming chorus snaking through his head, and Quentin grimaced. Wrong direction. Wrong choice. What else was new? He heard Krueger before he saw him, heard the deep, sardonic laugh and the metallic rustle of metal scraping against itself. When Quentin glanced over his shoulder, he knew what he would see. The best he could do was distract Krueger, hold his attention as long as possible so the others had time to repair the generators and open the gates. Then he could get the hell out of here.

Wasn’t hard. Krueger seemed content to follow him. Breaking hard left, Quentin dashed away from the cabin in the center of the woods and headed into the high walls staked into the ground. What they were for he had no idea, but a version of them always seemed to appear, and they were good for ringing around. Good for buying time. Where Quentin went, Krueger followed. Around every corner, past every thrown pallet, towards the rickety shack wedged where two high, bricked walls met. Quentin panted hard, sweat touching his hairline, as he dashed towards it. Krueger stayed a step behind, so perfectly timed that Quentin began to wonder if he was doing it on purpose. It was only when Quentin slammed his palms down the rough window ledge and vaulted into the shack, screaming with pain as the plug jolted inside of him, that Krueger took a swing.

Pain and blood blossomed over his back, soaking his shirt as he stumbled over the wooden flooring, trying to get his bearings. He needed to run. He needed to move. Where didn’t matter. Anywhere. Anywhere but _here._

The glove came slicing through the air once more, just as Quentin bolted for the door. Krueger was faster and with a short scream, Quentin hit the floor. Krueger loomed over him, wide grin slashed into his grotesque face. Gritting his teeth with determination, Quentin dug his elbows into the floor and dragged himself towards the door. Krueger’s smile widened, sharp, yellowed teeth glinting in the pale light as he cackled open-mouthed at the boy. Followed a step behind once more, watching and laughing until Quentin made it to the doorway.

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’?” Krueger asked, closing the distance. Kicking Quentin’s thighs apart, he pressed his boot heavily against his ass. Quentin yelped, back arching as Krueger dug his boot around, forcing Quentin’s ass apart as much as he could so he could press down hard on the plug. Krueger bounced his foot, jamming the plug as far into Quentin’s insides as he could, mockingly fucking him with the toy with each push of his boot.

“Stop!” Quentin cried out finally, fisting his hands in the grass and the dirt as he tried to pull away. Rain fell lightly on his flushed face. The earth felt soft and cool under his fingers. So much nicer than the empty shack behind him. Empty except for the demon leering down at him.

Grabbing Quentin by the ankle, Krueger hauled him back through the door frame. Placing a knee on either side of Quentin’s thighs, Krueger straddled the back of his knees. He ran the ungloved hand over the back of Quentin’s jeans, squeezing a cheek hard and laughing at the boy’s startled yelp. When Quentin began to flail, however, rock and thrash and scream, Krueger was a little less amused. In a real dream, it would be fine. Here? The other assholes might hear and interrupt, something he didn’t want to deal with.

Drawing his glove back, Krueger stabbed Quentin’s right thigh. The blades sank deliciously into the flesh, grazing past bone until they jabbed into the wood underneath. Quentin merely gasped as though the wind had been knocked out of him, staring wide-eyed into the forest outside the door. Gasping was better than screaming, and Quentin had never been particularly loud. Not when it came to pain, anyway. The threat of pain never worked when it came to keeping Quentin on his best behavior, but Krueger had known the boy long enough to know what _did._

“Keep quiet,” Krueger warned, “or it’ll be them instead of you.”

He didn’t nod, didn’t say ‘yes, sir’ like he would have when he was a baby, but he snapped his trap shut and that was good enough. Yanking his knives out of Quentin’s leg–the boy only moaned and stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from making any other noise–he spread both hands over his ass. Firm, but enough cushion to make it fun to squeeze. Big enough to fill his hands. Reminded him of a girl’s ass, and Krueger never missed an opportunity to tell Quentin that.

“Almost as good as hers,” he murmured, not bothering to specify who her was. Quentin knew. He knew, and he didn’t say anything about it, like a good boy.

Pressing the heel of his hand between Quentin’s cheeks, he was rewarded with a sharp inhale of breath. Krueger leaned over Quentin, putting weight on his arm, working the plug in as far as he could. If he wiggled his hand, could he get the flared edge to breech Quentin’s ass? Work it good and in so he’d _really_ struggle to get it out? The thought excited him, and Krueger drew back to pull at the boy’s jeans. Reaching under him, undoing the belt and the button and the zipper, would take too long, was too much work. Krueger was eager to put his idea to the test, so with a couple of well-placed swipes, he shredded Quentin’s pants enough to tear them away. So what if he nicked the skin here or there, got a little blood mixed in the with the long, thin fibers of denim? Krueger tore at the remains of Quentin’s pants like a bratty child ripping open a Christmas present until finally the tear was large enough for him to work.

The gem winked at him between the boy’s pale cheeks and Krueger smiled. Cute. He was still gonna make it disappear, but no harm in taking a moment to appreciate his hard work.

“HEY!”

Krueger’s head popped up and turned towards the shout. A few paces away stood David, square face warped with fury, chest heaving, arms tense on either side of his puffed-out chest. Quentin’s bodyguard. His _boyfriend_. Krueger’s own face melted into anger as he drew to his feet, plan momentarily forgotten in the face of David. David, the arrogant prick who had the nerve to think _he_ was Quentin’s boyfriend. That Quentin got to _have_ a boyfriend. Didn’t he know to whom Quentin _belonged_? Well, Krueger had no issue with beating another reminder into the Brit’s abnormally thick skull.

As Krueger and David sized each other up like angry peacocks, Meg slipped quietly into the ramshackle shack.

“Shh,” she hushed, placing a hand gingerly on Quentin’s lacerated back. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

If Krueger noticed the young woman, he gave no indication. He was too busy aiming knives into David’s chest with his eyes. David threw them right back, mouth twisted into a deep scowl.

“He don’t love you,” David growled.

Krueger stared at him a moment, temporarily shocked out of anger by David’s gross misreading of the situation. Then his face crinkled up and he _laughed._ Tipped his head back and howled until tears welled at the corners of his eyes. “Of course he doesn’t, you fucking idiot,” Krueger spat between snickers. “I don’t love him either.”

It was David’s turn to be surprised. He blinked, mouth slightly agape. “Then… wot!? What’s yer _obsession_ with ‘im!?”

“He’s mine,” Krueger said simply. “I own him.” 

Before David could respond, an alarm blared, interrupting their conversation. Krueger swiveled, whipping back towards the shack, but Meg and Quentin were gone. Hobbling towards the gate, Quentin leaned heavily on Meg’s shoulder. Miles away, meeting the fourth shitsack who probably had the door almost open by now. Krueger snapped back to David, no longer stunned, face a mask of perfect fury. His plan, ruined. It would be days before Quentin fell asleep, and an unknown amount of time before he saw him in one of these stupid games again. It was all the fucking meathead’s fault. He was the one who had distracted him, the one who had allowed Quentin to be stolen right out from under him. For that, he would pay.

The gates buzzed distantly and the ground crackled with fire. It caught Krueger’s eyes, glinting the narrowed slits gold as he advanced on the smirking Brit.

“Three minutes,” David jeered, rocking on the balls of his feet, ready to run once Krueger was too close.

Snarling, Krueger lunged at David like a snake at its prey, barely missing the large man as he took off in a sprint. Krueger followed, gaining ground with every step, relishing the way David threw glances over his shoulder, _knowing_ he was going to get caught before he made it out, _knowing_ it was only a matter of _when_, not if. Quentin was out the door, disappearing into the ever-present fog, Krueger could feel it. Probably the others too, because Krueger did not see any of them when the gate finally came into view. David saw it too, right before Krueger put his ass on the ground.

“Three minutes, huh,” he cooed, kicking David onto his back before standing over him, taking his turn to smirk into David’s bloody face. “Better make it count.”

Dropping to his knees, Krueger straddled David’s front much like he’d pinned Quentin’s backside. Unlike his pretty twink, David was older. Bigger. Quentin was scrappy, but David had _experience_. Knew how to take a beating and come back for more. He had to work fast, because the clock was ticking until the sky spider claimed his prize, and David wouldn’t stay down as easily as his boy had.

In quick succession, Krueger stabbed David. Shoulder, torso, other shoulder, all the way through to the ground. His blades pulled slickly out of the man’s muscle as David screamed, blood splattering over both of them. Krueger didn’t let up; he didn’t have _time_ to let up. With fast, frenzied movements, he eviscerated every bit of flesh he could lay claw to. Relished the way that cocky smile dropped away, leaving behind a grimace, though it was getting hard to tell through the swollen mass of blood that was David’ face. Shoving the middle claw under David’s chin, he tilted the man’s head up.

“This’ll teach you,” Krueger hissed slowly, craning over the battered man until he could smell David’s irony breath, “to play with other people’s toys.”

Cracking a red-stained smile, David quipped a quiet “Sharin’ is carin’, y’bloody cunt,” and spit a thin stream of blood into Krueger’s face.

His three minutes were almost up. Though he wanted nothing more to slowly carve the bastard’s tongue out of his skull, Kruger satisfied himself with a stab through the throat, with the way David’s eyes went wide and the blood bubbled up like a macabre foundation, with the knowledge that _he_ had killed him, not the spikes.

Wiping his blades on David’s cooling cheek, Krueger gave it a slow pat before standing. Somewhere beyond that gate and sparse woods, a fire burned. Had Quentin already pulled out his present? Stepping over David’s corpse, Krueger went as far as the monster who controlled this world, the bitch who kept him imprisoned here, would allow. Thin, black spikes erupted out of the ground, blocking his path, preventing him from following where the playthings went.

For now, at least.

Draping his wrists through the latticework of spines, Krueger leaned forward and grinned. Soon, kiddo. Let the boy enjoy the power he thought he had, the knowledge he thought he was gaining. Let him think he was one step ahead, because this gate wouldn’t hold him forever. Sooner or later, he’d learn how to get past it. Sooner or later, he’d regain what the sky bitch and taken from him. And then?

Quentin would _beg_ for death. _Pray_ for it. But there would be no god to answer his prayers.

Only Krueger.


End file.
